


You and I, We Could Make It

by ashavahishta



Series: 2012 'Verse [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:43:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashavahishta/pseuds/ashavahishta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Bullshit,” Louis read, his voice choked. There was a sick swooping sensation in his stomach and he leaned his forehead against Harry’s tense shoulder, trying to breathe past the bile that wanted to rise to the back of his throat.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I, We Could Make It

September had started so _well_.

The VMAs were incredible, and even though Louis had been warned to be careful, he couldn’t stop himself from sharing the amazing experience with Harry instead of who he was ‘supposed’ to be with. He dutifully spoke to Eleanor when the cameras were on them, even going so far as accepting a quick peck when Harry was looking away. Harry minded, probably (he always did), but Louis spent the rest of his night showering the other boy in attention and Harry’s smile stayed bright the whole time.

Everyone but Eleanor checked out of their LA hotel the next day. Liam and Dani were off on holiday, Zayn and Niall, home, and Harry and Louis had already decided to lay low for a few days. It was their only chance at any kind of holiday together and they’d bargained hard for it. The only way their management had agreed was if they promised to not be seen together, _at all_ , and that Louis would travel with Eleanor directly afterwards.

It was crap, Louis thought darkly, but it was better than what he called in his head The France Incident, capital letters included.

The France Incident had nearly torn him to pieces, he and Harry both bone-weary and frustrated by the end of their US tour, longing for home. Louis thought that this Florida trip would be a small price to pay for a weekend at the beach with Harry, especially considering they had had time at home alone recently anyway. The desperation they had felt prior to France wasn’t there.

 

 

 

So they agreed to disappear for a few days. A friend, Cal, who they had met while filming the tour diaries, had a beach house down near El Segundo and had graciously offered his hospitality for the weekend. Harry and Louis slept in the pool house, glad for the privacy and quiet. It was almost like being at home in their new house, the place they had been guarding so carefully from curious fan eyes. Management was keen to make it look like they had moved out, and Harry and Louis went along with the lie but had flatly refused to be taken away from each other.

The weekend was wonderful. Louis surfed while Harry watched from the shore, his left arm still bandaged with a fresh tattoo which would not take kindly to the saltwater. Harry smiled like a proud parent as Louis took on wave after wave, then whistled loudly when Louis emerged from the sea in his skintight wetsuit. One of Cal’s friends took in Louis’ thighs and ass in the suit and turned to Harry with a knowing grin. “You’re a lucky man, Styles,” she said, and Harry, smiling smugly and not looking away from Louis, nodded. “That I am,” he agreed. “That I am.”

In the afternoon they watched football on Cal’s sofa, passing beers and crisps back and forth between them. Louis complained loudly about his sore muscles from surfing, and Harry called him a baby but didn’t protest when Louis cuddled up against him and begged for sympathy.

The next day everybody slept in and Harry made pancakes at noon while Louis lazed about, basking in the sun coming in from the open window. Cal and his friends wandered in and they all just stood around in the kitchen eating and chatting for what seemed like hours. It was the lazy kind of day where nothing seemed to happen and yet the time slipped by, and suddenly it was six in the evening and Cal was heating up the barbecue for dinner.

They built a bonfire that night and sat around it in rickety little chairs, drinking and telling stories. Cal’s friends were warm and relaxed and funny, and none of them had batted an eyelash when Cal explained Harry and Louis’ unique situation and how important their privacy was. Louis trusted them, and it felt wonderful to just be a couple with Harry for such an extended period of time. There weren’t many safe places left for them, anymore, and there was something precious about the days (or sometimes mere hours) where they were allowed to act exactly as they wanted toward one another.

Harry and Louis appropriated a soft, worn hammock strung between two trees a few feet from the bonfire, ending up tangled comfortably together as conversation flowed around them. Full of beer and lulled by the heat, Louis ended up half-asleep with his face mashed into Harry’s shoulder while Harry continued to talk. Louis seemed to fall in and out of consciousness, a glorious, comfortable half-sleep. One of Cal’s friends, an Aussie ex-pat named Jonno who lived next door, laughed softly from somewhere to their right.

“Your bloke’s a bit of a lightweight, Hazzo,”

Hazzo. Jonno. Always with their nickmames, the Aussies. Louis smiled to himself.

Harry shifted slightly beneath Louis, his arm settled around Louis’ shoulders as he held him closer, and Louis nuzzled his face against Harry’s soft shirt and made a happy little noise.

“He’s not usually,” Harry replied with a smile in his voice, and Louis knew exactly which look was on his face. It was the warm one, with the dimples and the gentle eyes, the gaze which said ' _How did I get so lucky?'_. “I think he’s kind of tired, s’all.”

There was a brief pause and Jonno said, gruffly, “Must be hard. Staying together, I mean.”

Louis didn’t hear all of Harry’s reply. He was too close to sleep, the sounds drifting in and around his head randomly so he only heard snatches.' _Together for a long time,'_ Harry said, and _\- 'Trust each other'_ and ' _support from our families'_ and, especially - ' _when you love someone, it’s worth it._.'

At that Louis woke up enough to press a sleepy kiss to Harry’s shoulder. Harry rubbed his back in silent acknowledgement and Louis sighed in satisfaction and allowed himself to drop into unconsciousness.

 

 

 

At the end of their holiday, they separated at a stupid time of night, keen for at least one of them to get through LAX without being spotted. Harry and Louis sat quietly together in Cal’s silent living room, awkward in the knowledge that the rest of the house was asleep around them. When they heard the car approaching up the empty street, they shared a lingering hug and a few quiet kisses, muttered ‘love you's into each others’ necks.

Louis opened the door to the driver and allowed his suitcases to be carried down the front steps before he followed reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder at Harry as he went. Harry was sleepy-eyed and sad, his curls soft in the yellow porchlight. Louis wanted to run back to him and bury his face in Harry’s chest, wanted to hide from the world which was keeping them apart.

He didn’t.

He opened the car door and Eleanor was there, barely awake with her hair pulled into a messy bun. “Hey,” Louis said quietly, and Eleanor managed a brief smile. “Hey.”

Louis didn’t bother to ask what she’d been doing with herself for the past couple of days. He didn’t care. He leaned his head against the cold window and stared mournfully outside at Harry, who was still slouching in the open doorway of the house with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Louis thought maybe he’d like to blow Harry a kiss, but the car windows were tinted.

The car started and they pulled away from the house. The porchlight, and Harry’s silhouette, faded into the distance and Louis sighed, slumping into his seat. Eleanor watched his face for a moment, then reached over and touched his hand. “It sucks that you have to leave him again,” she said softly. She was trying to be understanding and Louis was grateful for it, because Eleanor usually showed little to no interest in Harry and Louis’ relationship. Perhaps she felt the lingering resentment Harry couldn’t help holding toward her, or perhaps she knew how fucked up it was to act supportive of a relationship that her very existence seemed to demean. Perhaps she simply didn’t care. But she had never made any particular effort to ask after Harry, to include him in their conversations or check in on how he and Louis were coping. Louis thought maybe it was because he had made such an effort to make his world with Harry utterly separate from Eleanor. He was being protective, he supposed.

Louis breathed out a tired sigh. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it does.”

 

 

 

 

Florida wasn’t so bad. They met up with Liam, Dani and Liam’s family in Orlando, and Louis was glad of the company. Eleanor and Dani spent most of their time together and therefore Louis was able to just hang out with Liam for a few days. When Liam wanted time alone with his family Louis was happy to head out to explore by himself, visiting local malls and chatting with fans. Management was trying some kind of new ‘subtlety’ strategy, since the fans had clued in to how often the paps seemed to find he and El out and about. In Louis’ mind this development was a massive improvement - it meant he could still appear to be with Eleanor but with less of the terribly awkward acting. It also meant less pictures of he and El for Harry to mope over later.

The time difference with London and Orlando was only five hours so Harry and Louis were lucky enough to keep in almost constant contact, texting and Skyping whenever they could. Harry was happy to be home, told stories about catching up with Nick and that lot. Louis was jealous of Nick in a distant sort of way, because he was allowed to be seen with Harry in public and Louis wasn’t. He also just didn’t particularly like the guy, but Harry did and that was enough for Louis. Really, Nick was a welcome distraction and comfort for Harry when he couldn’t be around Louis, and for that Louis was grateful.

When Louis was finally allowed to go home, he felt himself beaming with happiness the entire way out of Heathrow airport, Eleanor following distantly behind him. The twenty-minute cab ride to he and Harry’s home seemed to take forever, but then Louis was on their doorstep with his suitcases at his feet, fitting the key in the lock with a satisfying click.

 

 

“Harry?” he called, struggling to lug his bags over the threshold and into their living room. Harry was bounding down the stairs within moments, curls bouncing around his pretty face and green eyes shining with joy. “Lou,” he breathed, and crossed the room in two quick steps to envelope Louis in a tight hug. Louis felt Harry tuck his face down into Louis’ neck, a habit he had developed years ago when they were still the same height. His hands settled on Harry’s back and he closed his eyes, held on for a long time.

When they pulled back Harry’s arms stayed wrapped around Louis’ waist and he was smiling. “Hi,” he said, and Louis closed his eyes and leaned up into a series of soft, nudging little kisses, their noses brushing. Harry’s cheeks were dimpled in happiness and Loius couldn’t seem to stop touching him, his hands roaming Harry’s broad back, over his shoulders to cup his neck, down to curl around his biceps.

They kissed again and Harry spoke against his mouth, his voice slow and warm like syrup. “Missed you,” he murmured, and Louis merely nodded, pressing them together from head to toe and allowing himself a moment to revel in the feeling. Harry was warm and he smelled like home, and Louis kissed the corner of his mouth and the place behind his ear and the bow of his soft pink lips. Louis liked to think of those places as Louis-places, secret places where he and he alone could kiss and touch and caress. Louis thought he was one of the only people in the whole world who knew these secrets; the exact angles of Harry’s collarbones, the freckle on the back of his neck which was usually hidden by curls, the knobs of his ankles and the texture of the skin at the soles of his feet. Louis was the only person who knew where _all_ of Harry’s tattoos were, was the only person who knew about the ticklish spot behind his left knee, was the only person who knew exactly what it felt like to kiss at the crook of Harry’s elbow or the dimples at the base of his spine.

Louis thought there was something very beautiful about that. Those secrets were all little pieces of Harry that he tucked away into his heart, that he planned on never letting go of.

They stood in the living room for a little while, exchanging kisses and murmured words. It made Louis think of the way they would lay together just after sex or early in the morning, when they were sleepy and a bit on the sappy side, indulging themselves. He realised just how tired he was and he allowed himself to relax even further in Harry’s embrace, pulling out of a kiss and resting his cheek against Harry’s shoulder. “Haz,” Louis said, his eyes falling closed. “Take me to bed?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and Louis felt his chin rest briefly on the top of Louis’ head before he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah.”

 

 

 

 

There was absolutely nothing special about Sunday. It was cloudy and kind of cold when Louis woke with his face pressed against the nape of Harry’s neck. His arms were still wrapped loosely around Harry’s slender waist and Louis kissed his shoulder before rolling out of bed and toward the bathroom.

They puttered around the house for the day, not too fussed about staying in and avoiding the cameras. Harry did laundry and then made Louis fold it, and later they cuddled up on the couch for a bit to watch daytime TV.

When it happened, they were making dinner. Well, Harry was making dinner, and Louis was ‘helping’, which usually meant he did his absolute best to distract Harry from whatever he was doing. Tonight, he had the radio set to some random pop station and was singing along to Katy Perry at the top of his lungs, Harry’s favourite wooden spoon clutched in his hand as a makeshift microphone.

Harry was trying to concentrate on the garlic he was chopping but he couldn’t, breaking into giggles when he looked up and caught Louis’ eye. Louis just grinned and pulled out all the stops, dancing goofily and singing something about teenage dreams right into Harry’s face. Harry’s hands landed on his hips and they danced together until the end of the song, and then Harry wiped tears of laughter out of his eyes and turned the radio down. He took unfair advantage of their size difference, fitting his hands to the backs of Louis’ thighs and lifting him easily onto one of the counters and out of the way. “Stay,” he said sternly. “I’m trying to cook your dinner, you menace.”

Louis just laughed and stayed where he was, banging his heels against the cabinets below him just to make Harry frown. When Harry’s bolognese was simmering he placed the lid on it and leaned against Louis, his shoulders and back against Louis’ chest and Louis’ knees nestled on either side of his waist. Louis draped over him, his arms coming around Harry’s chest and his cheek pressing against Harry’s. Harry had his phone out, absently checking his twitter feed while Louis read over his shoulder.

 

 

They both saw it at the same time. Harry tensed beneath Louis and Louis swallowed, reaching out to point at Harry’s screen. “Is that - is that ‘me’?”

Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s - Lou. There’s a lot more.”

Louis’ heart pounded uncomfortably fast and he could see that Harry’s fingers were trembling slightly as he clicked over to Louis’ page.

“Waste your time somewhere else,” Harry read, his voice robotic with shock. “And she wasn’t - oh my god, she wasn’t even replying to you. Lou - they’re...they’re just seeking out random fans and yelling at them.”

“They can’t do that,” Louis said, because it was what he wanted to believe. “They can’t -” he was frozen, unable to react or even process to what he was seeing. Nobody had mentioned anything like this to him. Nobody had bothered to warn him that this was a possibility.

Together, they watched in growing horror as “Louis” continued tweeting. A few minutes later, a new reply popped up and Louis felt his heart stop. Harry let out a noise like he’d been punched in the stomach, a hurt whoosh of air escaping his mouth.

“Bullshit,” Louis read, his voice choked. There was a sick swooping sensation in his stomach and he leaned his forehead against Harry’s tense shoulder, trying to breathe past the bile that wanted to rise to the back of his throat.

“Ow,” Harry said weakly, and his voice shook as he continued. “Lou -” he turned in Louis’ arms and Louis saw that his eyes were shining with hurt. “How could they?” Harry asked, and his hands grasped urgently at Louis’ shirt like he could provide any kind of answer. “How _could_ they?”

“I don’t know,” Louis said, still reeling. “I don’t know, I -” he grabbed for Harry’s phone again and read the next few tweets, a completely random response to that stupid old pigeon joke and then - “I’ve gone to town today haha,” Louis read woodenly. “Haha. Like seeking out fans to yell at is so hilarious. Oh god, how awful do they want me to be?”

And that _hurt_ , the thought of every single one of his fans being able to see ‘him’ being so cruel to them. Louis loved his fans dearly, even when they were nuts, and he’d always felt protective over them. He hated bullying and the thought of how many other fans would now descend on those ‘he’ had replied to made him feel sick and guilty.

 

 

Louis spent an hour or so on his twitter, trying to defuse the situation by tweeting about his upcoming charity game and replying to a few friendly fans. He couldn’t help but agree with the tweet ‘he’ had sent about his mother, but the whole situation felt so...cruel. Harry hovered nearby, biting his nails and scrolling through his own feed. Louis could tell Harry was upset (their dinner had been set aside, half-cooked and forgotten), but he was too busy dealing with his own situation to comfort him.

When he was finally convinced that whoever was tweeting on his account was finished, Louis switched his phone off and set it down on the kitchen bench. "Well, that's turned everything to shit," he said quietly.

Harry had put his phone down as well and was watching him from across the room, his expression unreadable.

Louis had no idea what to say. He felt angry and hurt and _guilty_ , even though he knew there wasn't much he could have done to stop it.

Harry just bit his lip and nodded. Louis raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Are you going to say anything?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at the floor for a long time. "I love you so much," he said, but it didn't sound fond or happy or gentle the way it usually did. It sounded heavy. It sounded like there was a 'but' hanging on the end.

The first half of the sentence hung in the air, and Louis, knowing he would regret it, prompted, "...and?"

"I love you so much," Harry said again, still not looking up. "That most of the time I can tell myself that this is all worth it. I can pretend I'm okay and that it's not killing me that we have to keep doing all this. But I just..." he shook his head and his voice went so quiet that Louis almost didn't hear the end of his sentence. "I just don't know if I can do it anymore."

Louis felt himself take a step backwards, Harry's words hitting him like a physical force. He blinked, closed his gaping mouth and took a few steadying breaths. Harry couldn't - they couldn't -

"What's that supposed to mean?" Louis asked, his voice coming out weak with shock and hurt.

"I don't know," Harry said. He was still staring at the floor. "I don't know, Lou, I -" he brought his hands up to his face and rubbed at his eyes with a groan of frustration. "I'm so _done_ with this, I can't just - it keeps getting worse and I can't do it forever and I just feel like I'm gonna crack any day now, I can't, Louis, I _can't_."

He was losing it, breaking down in front of Louis' eyes and Louis rushed to him, wrapped his hands around Harry's wrists and dragged them down from his face. Harry's eyes were wet and his cheeks were flushed and Louis hated it, seeing Harry like that and knowing he had caused it.

"You can," Louis said, because it was all he could do. "You can, I know you can, you've been doing great so far and you're so _strong_ , and we're strong together, we just have to wait a little longer and then -"

"And then what?" Harry interrupted. "And then you and El go on another date and they ask me about another model I've never met and you tell everyone what _bullshit_ our relationship is, is that what I'm waiting for here?"

"You know what you're waiting for," Louis protested, squeezing Harry's hands in his own. "Us, Harry. You and me."

Harry looked at their hands for a moment. "Yeah," he said, and swallowed. "Yeah. Except I don't even know what 'us' is anymore."

Louis felt like he'd been slapped. "What - Harry, yes you do. It's...it's when we're together, when we're not doing what they tell us to do. At home, or with the boys, or our families, or -"

"And how often does that happen?" Harry asked, his green eyes piercing as they met Louis'. "At home is literally all we have. I can't take you home to see my family. I can't talk about you with my friends. If the boys are around there are cameras, so that's not an option, because I'm too busy trying to make sure I don't sit near you or talk to you or fucking... _look at you_. I miss you. Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard? I'm with you pretty much twenty four hours a day but the moment we leave this flat, I miss you. You'll be in the same room with me and I _miss you_ , Louis. Because in front of the cameras you're not mine anymore. You're theirs."

"I'm _always_ yours," Louis said fiercely, and he pressed closer and cupped his hands over Harry's face. He thumbed at the wetness on Harry's cheeks. "Out there I can't show it, but you know I am, you know I always have been."

Louis could feel his control slipping, could tell how desperate he sounded but he didn't care, not when it felt like he was on the verge of losing something very, very important.

“I know,” Harry said. “I’m telling you that I don’t know how much longer I can wait for you to show it out there.”

“Harry...” Louis stepped away, feeling defensive and frustrated. “I’m waiting too,” he argued. “Our contract will run out and then - baby, we have to play it by their rules, you know we do. There’s too much at stake.”

Harry nodded, but his expression was bitter. “Oh, trust me, I know. The contract, the label, Simon, Eleanor, the boys, the band, our friends, our family, they’re all part of our giant lie now.”

“They’re protecting us,” Louis replied, and Harry shook his head.

“No, you’re protecting them. You're thinking of everyone but yourself, you always have. Your sisters, your mum, the boys, me...and we all love you for it but god I wish you'd just be _selfish_ for once."

"I can't!" Louis burst out. "I can't see this band fall apart, I can't watch people call us poofs or faggots or - I don't want to be Those Gay Guys In That Band, Harry!"

"You really think that would be worse than what we're doing now?" Harry questioned calmly. "You'd really rather us be The Slut and The Asshole? Because that's where this is all heading."

Louis threw his hands in the air in frustration. "It's not my fault that we're painting us like that, okay? I can't stop them from calling the papers and planting their own stories, or twisting our words, or taking over my twitter. We signed a goddamn contract."

"And I'm starting to regret it every day." Harry said. "Which I _hate_ , because this band is the best thing that's ever happened to me and I swore I'd never forget how lucky I am."

"Haz..."

"I'm eighteen years old, Louis! I shouldn't be lying awake at 4am trying to choose between my relationship and my career."

"Choose?" Louis repeated. "There's no choice here, you have both already."

Harry eyed him. "Maybe," he conceded. "But I just feel like something's gotta give."

 

 

They were silent for awhile and Louis crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you want me to say?" he questioned softly. "I don't have a solution here, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "Neither do I," he replied, his words bitten off and sad. "I just - I need some time. I think I'm gonna give Nick a call, see if he's out."

Louis felt his mouth twist angrily. "Right. You just go ahead and call Nick, maybe he'll be able to offer some advice if he's not too busy hitting on you."

"He's not -!"

"Yes he is, you know he is. When he's trying to get into your pants, he's name-dropping you every minute of every day."

"He's my _friend_ , Louis." Harry said, and sounded about as dangerous as he ever did.

Louis nodded. "I know. He also has a crush on you, and he's using your fame to his own advantage. You're too kind to do anything about it."

"You know what? I don't even care. If he has a crush on me, it doesn't _matter_ , unless you really think I'd ever betray you like that. If he's using my name, _fine_. He's my friend and I want him to be successful. At least I can be seen with him in public."

Stung, Louis stepped further back from Harry and moved to leave the kitchen. "Fine. Go on then, go get trashed with Nick, let the cameras find you, do what you want. I don't care."

"Yes you do." Harry said, but he didn't sound certain about it. He sounded hopeful. "You're jealous."

"I'm allowed to be jealous," Louis defended automatically. "I'm your boyfriend."

"So _be_ my boyfriend," Harry begged. "Be my boyfriend where people can see, let me hold your hand and tell everyone you're mine."

"The contract -"

Harry sighed heavily. "Yes, the contract. I fucking know, okay? It's all I ever think about. You know the world wouldn't actually implode if we came out, right? We could leak a picture of ourselves together at any time and then we could finally just be done with it and what could they do?"

"They could _sue_ us, Harry!" Louis barked. "They could make our lives hell for years, take all our profits, take away everything we've worked for , everything the boys have worked for. I won't do that to them."

"You're thinking of the worst-case scenario," Harry argued, but his voice was weak. "You don't know, it could be okay..."

"Well, I'm not settling for 'could'. I'm doing what I'm told because it's the only way to protect what we have. We've talked about this already, love, when they renew our contract things will change."

"I don't know if I can wait that long."

"Well that's all I have to offer you," Louis said, and he felt too drained to fight any more.

Harry picked up his phone and his car keys and shrugged on a jacket, and let the front door slam shut behind him. He didn't say goodbye.

 

 

 

 

Louis did what he usually did when he had a problem - he called his mother. They talked for a bit, but Jay couldn’t give Louis anything except her sympathy. It wasn’t what Louis wanted - he wanted - no, he _needed_ \- a solid answer, a solution.

He knew there was none.

Louis went to bed early but didn’t sleep. His mind flitted from one stray thought to another, anxious and stressed. Where was Harry, and what was he doing? Was he alright? Would they be able to get through this, again? Louis didn’t know, and he lay awake, terrified at the thought of losing Harry for good.

It seemed impossible. They’d been so committed to each other for so long that Louis had honestly not really considered what his life might be like without Harry. It just felt wrong, implausible, ridiculous. Louis without Harry was - well. He wasn’t much.

Harry was everything, Louis knew that. Harry was the body curled around him in the darkness of night, he was the bright smiles in the mornings, he was the person who knew Louis better than anyone and - amazingly - loved him. Limitlessly, it seemed, and Louis would probably never fully understand that. He was such a mess of his own insecurities. He seemed to spend half his time being jealous over everybody Harry came into contact with, and the other half wondering why Harry put with all the crap that accompanied their secret relationship.

And yet - and yet Harry loved him. Endlessly, boundlessly, faithfully - Harry loved him. He seemed to have an inexhaustible capacity for it, a patience Louis hadn’t known existed. They’d been pushed, so many times, usually by outside sources but sometimes by each other, and Louis would always expect Harry to throw his hands in the air and give up. Harry could have anyone he wanted, would suffer so much less if wasn’t with Louis, but he was. He’d held on to this for nearly two years and Louis couldn’t understand it.

He’d never really felt like he deserved Harry.

He supposed that was why he tried so hard to protect him. Taking on the Eleanor deal, allowing management to drag his name through the mud...he hated it, oh, he hated it, but if it spared Harry any kind of pain he’d continue doing it as long as it was needed.

Except that now it seemed like everything he was doing to protect Harry _was_ causing him pain, and Louis didn’t know how to deal with that. As always, they were stuck, and Harry was right - they couldn’t go on like this forever.

 

 

 

Louis heard it when Harry came home. The front door closing sounded loud in the empty house, and Harry’s boots thudded on the floorboards of the hallway. His footsteps stopped outside their bedroom door but it didn’t open.

Louis waited, and Harry didn’t come to bed. He heard another door open a few feet away - the guest bedroom. Louis had expected that, probably, but it still hurt. He sighed and curled into himself, feeling small and lonely.

He was still mostly awake a few hours later when the door opened. Louis didn’t open his eyes, laying still and listening to Harry’s bare feet pad across the room. The bed dipped behind him and Louis stayed quiet, wondering what Harry was doing. Louis felt a rush of cool air as the blankets were lifted and then Harry was shifting closer to his side of the bed. His movements were slow and halting, like he wasn’t sure whether or not he was welcome.

Finally Louis felt Harry's hand on his waist, more hesitant than he ever was. Louis didn't pull away, touched Harry's fingers in a way he hoped was inviting, and waited.

Harry let out a relieved huff of air and slid in behind him, spooning up against Louis' back just like they usually slept. Louis allowed Harry's arms to curl around his waist and he breathed deeply, settled into it. It felt like the vice that had been tight around his chest all day was loosening slightly.

It wasn't quite right. Louis didn't know what to say so he stayed silent, and he could tell by Harry's stillness that he wasn't sure what they were doing either. Louis didn't think he could go back to sleep, not with everything hanging dark and scary in the air around them.

Harry's mouth was soft on the nape of his neck and it felt like an apology - or maybe forgiveness. Louis didn't even know who was supposed to be angry anymore. Was it him, because Harry had walked away? Or Harry, because Louis wasn't fighting hard enough?

Louis wasn't even sure that he cared. He just wanted this to be over, he wanted them to be okay so he could breathe again.

He found Harry's hand on his waist and touched his fingers to Harry's palm, then the back of his hand. Even in the dark he could find Harry's tattoos, and he traced the shape of the words around his wrist, the little padlock.

Besides the 'hi' in his writing, the padlock was Louis' favourite. It was so simple but Louis loved its meaning - faithfulness and devotion...permanence.

Harry's voice was rough and quiet. "I mean it, you know. All of the tatts - I mean it."

"I know you do," Louis squeezed Harry's hand and curled further into himself, pulling Harry's chest tighter against his back in the process. "You always mean it."

"And I don't want -" Harry made a frustrated noise, his breath huffing against Louis' neck. "I don't want this to be over, I don't want to be without you, I _can't_ , but I just...it’s starting to get to the point where it hurts almost as much as it makes me happy.”

Louis knew exactly what Harry meant. Lately it seemed that for every moment they had together, every little smile or kiss or touch, there was a new price, another few ounces added to the weight on their shoulders. The pressure was immense and Louis hated, _despised_ how it made him question whether their relationship was worth it.

He thought bitterly that that was exactly what their management wanted, and it burned him up inside with a defiant kind of anger. They _were_ worth it, just as Harry had said back in Cal’s yard in Los Angeles. Louis knew they were worth it when he watched Eleanor sign her contract, and he knew they were worth it when he handed over his twitter password. He knew they were worth it in New Zealand when Harry kissed Emma, and he knew they were worth it on a plane to Nice with Harry waiting for him at home.

Harry was always worth it, and he always had been. He always would be.

 

 

Louis decided he didn’t want to have this conversation like this, hiding in the dark. He reached to turn on his bedside lamp and then turned in Harry’s arms to face him. Harry was blinking in the sudden light but he met Louis’ gaze after a moment.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said, and he meant it. Harry just stared at him and Louis felt too raw like that, open and vulnerable. He strongly considered turning his back on Harry again but decided against it. Instead he sighed and leaned in to rest his forehead against Harry’s, closing his eyes for a moment. “I hate hurting you all the time,” he whispered, and it came out choked and painful.

Harry shifted so their knees were touching beneath the blanket, and his breath ghosted across Louis’ mouth when he spoke. “I know,” he murmured. “I hate it too, all of it. I hate having to go through this all over again every few months, I hate having the same fight with you even though it’s not our fault.”

“We do seem to talk about this a lot,” Louis admitted wryly. He could think of at least three fights almost exactly like this, when they got so fed up that they took it out on each other. It always ended the same way. “So is this the part where I say that I love you forever, that a year or two of complete and utter hell is going to feel like nothing compared to the fields of sunshine and rainbows that will be our future?”

Harry leaned back slightly so they could look at each other. There was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and his eyes were not as sad as before. “Yes,” he said. “It’s also the part where I remind _you_ that I’m invested enough in this that I’ve completely ruined my left arm.”

“Hey!” Louis said indignantly, and thwapped Harry lightly on the shoulder. “That was your choice, you twat. I didn’t tell you to go and mark yourself up for me.”

“And yet you love it,” Harry said confidently.

“A little,” Louis admitted, and gave Harry a small smile. “Seriously, though -”

“Seriously,” Harry’s expression softened and he reached out to cup Louis’ face in one big hand, his thumb stroking Louis’ cheekbone. “I’m sorry I yelled, and I really really don’t want to break up with you, and I know it’s worth it even though it fucking sucks most of the time.”

Louis frowned. “I feel like there’s some kind of ‘fucking and sucking’ joke in there but I’m too tired to find it.”

Harry let out a bark of laughter and sort of fell into Louis, tucking his face against Louis’ neck and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Trust me, we don’t have a problem with that,” he said into Louis’ skin.

“Oh good, because I was really starting to worry that our sex life would go stale,” Louis declared dramatically. He fell back into the pillows with an affected sigh, dragging Harry with him. “We’d be down to shagging only once a day, we’d actually use bathroom breaks to go to the bathroom, we’d never touch that box of fun under the bed...”

Harry wrestled his way out of Louis’ hold, looming over him with his palms flat on the bed on either side of Louis’ shoulders. “I wouldn’t have hickies to cover up all the time,” he continued, mock-serious. “I’d have to find something better than your bum to stare at all day.”

Louis raised his eyebrows. “Darling, if you can find anything better than my bum, it probably deserves to be stared at.”

Harry laughed. “True,” he conceded. He leaned back, settling himself properly so he was straddling Louis’ hips. He looked down at Louis for a moment, and Louis was stupidly happy to note the usual adoration in Harry’s expression. He reached for Harry’s hand and played with his long fingers, pressing a kiss to his palm.

“I do love you,” he said softly. “So much. And I mean it when I say it’s all going to be worth it eventually, we just have to hang on for a bit longer.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and he looked tired but his eyes were warm, promising. “I know.”

“We’re okay?”

Harry didn’t hesitate. He leaned down and caught Louis’ mouth in a kiss, pressing their lips together for a long, sure moment. “We’re okay.”

 

 

 

They were only sort of okay.

The fallout from the twitter incident (and yes, Louis was thrilled to have another Incident haunting his memories) lasted a few days. Louis lay low at home, trying not to go online because he could _feel_ the hatred there, just waiting for him to read. Harry flitted in and out of the house, visiting friends and making the most of the time off before Itunes Fest on Thursday. Together, they were tentative with each other, awkward. It wasn't so much that they were mad with each other, they were just...upset in general, a bit raw from Sunday's events. Louis wasn't sure what Harry wanted from him, and Harry wasn't doing him any favours by avoiding the house. The lingering tension in the air was driving Louis crazy but all he could do was wait for it to settle.

They went into rehearsals for Itunes on Wednesday and by then Louis could tell that he and Harry were starting to heal. Perhaps it was the presence of the other boys that calmed them, or maybe the distraction of working again. Either way, it felt like they were starting to slot back into place; their interactions smoother and warmer, their jokes coming easier, their smiles brighter. That night Harry declined Nick's invitation to go out and chose to stay in with Louis instead. They were too tired to do much but watch a movie together but it was comfortably familiar. Louis was pleased with how naturally Harry curled up around him on the couch, his head a reassuring weight on Louis' lap and his curls soft between Louis' fingers. It still felt too soon for sex but they kissed for a long time when the movie was over, melting into each other until Louis felt warm and light-headed.

Thursday meant more rehearsals. They were pulled out halfway through one to be told the single and video had leaked, and then it was a rush of damage control and plugging the new release date. It wasn't exactly what they wanted to happen but they rolled with it, stepping straight back into soundcheck after recording a hasty twitcam.

 

 

 

Louis' mood dropped dramatically when Nick Grimshaw arrived.

He knew he should have been making an effort, and he had told himself so many times that he should trust Harry's judgement and that Harry could be friends with whoever he wanted, but...god, he just really didn't like the guy. Something about him just frustrated Louis, made him want to roll his eyes and walk away when he talked, made his hackles raise. It didn't help that he was still sure Nick was hitting on Harry. Every time he ducked backstage to talk to them Nick's attention zeroed in on Harry immediately, teasing and joking. They stood in the doorway of the dressing room and chatted for ages, and Louis knew he was glaring from the other side of the room but he couldn't help it. Nick was standing too close and smiling too much. Didn't have a job to do? Why was he always hanging around like this?

After a few minutes Niall nudged him and said, "You know if you stare long enough you might be able to set him on fire with your eyes?"

Louis startled but didn't look away. "You think?" he asked hopefully, and Niall laughed and patted him on the back. "Mate, they're just friends."

Louis sighed. "I know," he muttered. "I still think Nick wants to get into his pants."

"So what if he does? Harry'd never let him." Niall was so confident and Louis knew it was true but it wasn't easy to suppress his jealousy, especially when things with Harry had been rough. Their fight had left him sensitive.

 

 

When it was time for their actual interview to be recorded, Louis didn't bother to hide his distaste. He knew he was being rude but he didn't care; he didn't have time for Nick's stupid jokes and the way he kept looking at Harry. The whole thing came out stilted and weird, and as soon as the camera turned off Louis was done, unclipping his mic and stomping back to their dressing room.

Harry followed, because of course he did. When Louis got to the dressing room he paced restlessly, annoyed at Nick and at himself and even at Harry, a little. Harry was infuriatingly calm, closing the door behind him and leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes followed Louis as Louis paced and Louis snapped, “What?”

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, his voice level.

“No!” Louis threw his hands in the air and turned in a tight little circle. The room was too small and there were too many mirrors along the walls, too many pieces of furniture to knock into. He felt trapped and irritated and anxious.

“You’re jealous,” Harry said in that same calm voice. It wasn’t accusatory or angry or even smug, it was just...observing.

Louis hated it.

“Don’t be stupid,” he sneered, turning a disdainful look on Harry.

Harry just took it, raised his eyebrows and asked, “Well, why were you so rude to Nick then?”

Louis’ head snapped up. “Defending your new boyfriend?” he accused, and it was stupid, he _knew_ it was stupid because they’d had this conversation already.

“No,” Harry said. “I’m asking my actual boyfriend why he’s so upset.”

Louis was silent for a minute, still pacing and trying to make the heavy, tight feeling in his gut fade away. Harry waited him out, because Harry was probably one of the only people in the world who knew how to deal with Louis’ moods.

“It’s not fair,” Louis said finally. It sounded petulant and whiny. “It’s not fair that he can smile at you and flirt with you and stare at you and I’m just sitting in the background reminding myself that I can’t do _any_ of that.”

Harry sighed. “Lou...” he said. “You having to keep your distance? It’s an act, babe. What we do out there, in front of the cameras, you know it’s all an act. Me and you pretending to be just friends, you pretending to be with El...it’s all just pretend and it doesn’t _matter_ , it never has.”

It was true. Harry’d never been very good at it but Louis was better, and sometimes he hated himself for it, hated how easily the lies slipped off his tongue. He thought about Harry’s latest tattoos, the comedy/tragedy faces over his ribs and the heartbreaking birdcage with no door. Everything lately had been about wearing masks, playing parts, being trapped in roles they didn’t choose. Harry was right, it shouldn’t have mattered because they knew the truth, but Louis sometimes forgot what the truth even was.

“I shouldn’t have to see you with him,” Louis insisted, clinging stubbornly to his own anger.

Harry fixed him with an intense stare from across the room. “I shouldn’t have to see you with El, but we’re all paying a price here,” he said, and Louis could feel the barely-restrained frustration in his voice.

Harry was right, and it stung. “Don’t throw that back at me,” Louis snapped. “It’s not my fault.”

Harry’s lips quirked in a humorless smile. “I _know_. It’s not your fault, and it’s not my fault, and you’re picking a fight over Nick because you’re upset about something else. Can we just skip to you telling me what it is so I can fix it?”

And damnit, Harry knew him too bloody well.

Louis stared at him for a moment and Harry’s face softened. “I know you,” he said simply.

 

 

“I didn’t mean to pick a fight,” Louis admitted after a moment, staring at his feet. It was true, and he hated that he’d let himself cause new drama just when they were starting to get back to normal. “I just - things with us have been...rough, and seeing you with him, even when I know it doesn’t mean anything-” He shook his head. “Why do you put up with me?”

“Because I love you,” Harry replied promptly. “Even when you don’t love yourself.”

The feeling that welled up in Louis’ chest right then was so overpowering he almost choked on it. Because he’d never really understand what made Harry love him so deeply, so unconditionally, but he did know exactly how lucky he was.

“I love you too,” Louis said thickly, and Harry must have felt the need in his voice because he crossed the room in an instant and wrapped Louis up in a tight hug. Louis felt himself crumple into it with a sigh, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and burying his face in his chest.

He closed his eyes, breathing in Harry’s smell and it was then that he finally felt safe enough to admit what was scaring him so much. “It’s just been so shitty lately and I keep feeling like I’m on the edge of losing you,” he mumbled into Harry’s shirt.

Harry’s grip tightened almost painfully, his fingers digging into Louis’ back. “You’re not losing me,” he said firmly. “Louis. You’re _not._ ”

It was reassuring, but Louis couldn’t help flashing back to how he’d gone to bed alone a mere four days ago.

“How can you be so sure?” he asked, stepping back to look Harry in the eye. “You’re the one who said you didn’t know if you could do this anymore.”

He wasn’t trying to be accusatory but Harry winced anyway, his eyes guilty.

“I was upset,” Harry’s hands didn’t move from Louis’ back, keeping him close. “I was angry and frustrated and I took it out on you but I didn’t - I’d never actually _leave_ you over something like that.”

Louis was quiet and Harry stroked his back soothingly. “Hey, what did you say to me when you left for France, huh?”

Louis’ brow furrowed. He remembered dragging Harry into the airport bathroom, remembered grabbing Harry’s face and whispering fierce words to him, remembered how Harry’s eyes were wide and his breath had ghosted over Louis’ mouth.

“This doesn’t end,” Louis said, and for a moment he was back in that bathroom with Harry staring down at him, begging for the reassurance that Louis needed right now.

“This doesn’t end,” Harry repeated, and his voice was strong and sure. “ _We_ don’t end. No matter how many dumb fights we have over management or Eleanor or Nick fucking Grimshaw, _we don’t end._ So don’t you dare think you’re losing me.”

“Okay,” Louis whispered, and he felt Harry press kisses to his cheeks and forehead. “Okay.”

 

 

Harry dragged them down to sit on a nearby couch and Louis didn’t let go, so they landed with Louis in a messy sprawl over Harry’s lap. He touched Harry’s face, smoothed a thumb over his jaw and Harry smiled gently at him, his eyes fond.

“I still think Nick Grimshaw’s a right twat,” Louis said, and Harry burst out laughing. He tickled Louis’ sides and Louis’ shrieked, writhing to get away from his hands until Harry grabbed his wrists and held him still.

“Well, you’re just gonna have to put up with him.” Harry said, and Louis grumbled a “Fine,” and kissed him. Harry smiled against his mouth, letting go of Louis’ wrists to run his hand down Louis’ back.

They kissed for a few minutes, getting used to each other again after such a rocky few days. Then Louis relaxed with his head resting against Harry’s shoulder, his palm spread over Harry’s chest.

“Hey Lou,” Harry said quietly after a while, touching his hand.

“Mm?”

“Tell me about when we’re older.”

And Louis laughed, he _laughed_ because Harry remembered, and because it was so bittersweet, that they needed to do this at all but it helped, to be reminded exactly what they were fighting for.

“Where were we last?” he asked, stroking Harry’s chest with his thumb and pressing a kiss to his neck.

“We were thinking about dog breeds,” Harry said promptly. There was a smile in his voice and Louis knew they were thinking the same thing; that they were ridiculous to let dreams carry them away like this but -

Well.

They’d both dreamed of being real singers with real fans, of concerts and tours and albums, and somehow, somehow, it had happened.

It didn’t seem too far-fetched to dream about this.

 

 

 

 

 

When they left the dressing room, Louis felt centred and calm, the kind of contented quiet that only Harry seemed to be able to bring out in him. They found the other boys and played their soundcheck, sinking back into the familiar rhythm of the five of them together. Louis couldn't help staring at Harry from across the stage, caught up in the feeling of performing with him again. He knew it would be even harder to control himself when they actually performed tonight, but it didn't matter. Louis was just happy to know that he and Harry were going to be okay.

Backstage, Nick hovered again but Louis found he didn't really care anymore. He could tell that Harry liked Nick a lot, and they definitely seemed to enjoy spending time together, but Harry had never once shown Nick the kind of adoration he always reserved for Louis. Louis even made an effort to make small talk with the other man, joining he and Harry's conversation in the hallway between interviews. Nick seemed surprised at his sudden change of heart but adjusted quickly, asking Louis questions and smiling down at him. They'd probably never be real friends, Louis thought, but they were both making an effort for Harry's sake and that was good enough.

Harry's arm was curled firmly around Louis' waist the entire conversation, keeping him close and making it clear to Nick that there was a divide there, a distinct difference between HarryandLouis and Harry and Nick. Louis could tell that Harry was making the statement for Louis' sake, and he appreciated it. When Harry's hand drifted to rest on his hip, fingers stroking lightly under his shirt, Nick's eyes followed the movement and Louis barely restrained a smug smile.

 

 

 

They had sex that night for the first time since their argument, still hyped and wrapped up in each other from the stage. It was messy and desperate and a little rough, exactly what they both needed. Louis marked Harry up with his teeth and nails, dropping bite marks on his collarbone and sucking hickeys into his thighs. He fucked Harry hard, made him whine and clutch at Louis' arms, dig bruises into his biceps with his thumbs. Louis let himself be selfish, thrust into Harry deep and fast while Harry cried out and squirmed beneath him. Louis held him down the way Harry liked, came inside him with a low groan and finally stroked Harry to his own orgasm after Harry whimpered and begged him for it. Harry was peaceful afterward, settled in a way he hadn't been all week, and Louis felt the same way. Their new bruises and scratchmarks lasted a day or two and it felt _right_ , after what they'd been through, to be able to claim each other again.

 

 

They headed to Germany on Saturday and Louis, who never seemed to be able to sleep on flights, was drowsy and dizzy when they climbed into the van at the airport. The drive from there to the signing venue was over an hour and Louis curled up with his head in Harry's lap and Harry's hand in his hair. When he woke up he found that Harry had draped Louis' own hoodie over his body, keeping him warm and comfortable. He sat up to kiss Harry's cheek, pulling away just as they arrived.

When they walked into the venue the windchill caught up with Louis and he rubbed at the goosebumps which rose on his arms, cursing himself for leaving his hoodie in the car. Then suddenly Harry was beside him, draping the missing garment around his shoulders and touching Louis' back with a murmured, "There you go, boo."

Louis smiled at him and pulled the hoodie on properly, sent Harry a thumbs-up in lieu of the kiss he couldn't give him.

They were shocked to be told that they could sit together at the signing, but didn't question the unexpected luck. It was lovely to have Harry close, their knees knocking under the table. Harry kept leaning over to whisper inside jokes into Louis' ear, his smile bright and loving. Louis knew they were being watched but he didn't care, smiled back at him because Harry deserved it.

 

When they got home Harry and Louis invited the rest of the boys over for the evening. Zayn declined, saying he and Perrie were exhausted and just wanted to go home, but Liam and Niall agreed gladly. They took over one of Harry and Louis' sofas, throwing popcorn at each other and yelling loudly at the television. They demanded Harry make them dinner but Harry refused and called for pizza instead, and they made a mess of themselves by leaving greasy napkins everywhere and dropping crumbs all over Harry's clean carpet. Harry pouted and Louis laughed at him, telling the boys off with a twinkle in his eye. Niall just threw a napkin at him and picked up another slice of pizza.

They enjoyed watching X-Factor, not just because they could pass judgement on each new performer and argue about the judge's decisions, but also because it brought back so many memories for them. "Remember the time we locked Wagner in the bathrooom," Niall would say gleefully, or "Oh man, I always thought I'd trip on that bit of the stage..." Liam would say. Harry leaned back against Louis' chest and tilted his head up to murmur against his neck, "How many times did we make out in that green room?" and Louis grinned, snaking his arms around Harry's waist. "Oh, hundreds," he said cheekily.

 

 

They were all over each other that night, snuggling up on the couch to whisper and murmur little nothings to one another. Louis knew they were doing the thing the other boys teased them about, drifting into their own world where they could only see each other. He couldn't help it, because Harry's presence was so intoxicating, still, his love so tangible.

They were sharing another little joke, Harry laughing as Louis pressed soft little kisses to his cheek and neck and jaw, when Liam raised his eyebrows and said, "I see you two are back to normal."

 

Louis looked at Harry and they were caught in each other again, gazing. "Yeah," Louis said, and kissed Harry's smile. "We're okay."


End file.
